


Silence

by Alternatively



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternatively/pseuds/Alternatively
Summary: An alternative, unambiguous beginning for Lupin and Tonks.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	Silence

The light streaming in through the train window was a promise, gilding dust motes, making the exhaustion stand out on her face like a bruise, and setting her hair alight, mousy tones struck with amber and chestnut and a sort of ashy gold…

They sat side by side, the early morning landscape rushing past, hedgerows and telephone poles and birds… a fox… and the sky a pale, washed out colour, with that light…

They sat side by side, waiting.

_Safe_.

The movement of the carriage. Slight swaying. Added to three nights on the run with no sleep and nothing but sheer determination not to give up in front of her… everything was swinging off balance, swaying, slipping…

Remus kept his eyes open.

Newly healed pink stripes, a scrape, across the back of her right hand. Ratty cuff of a once black hoodie. Her fingers usually fidgeted with cuffs. They lay limp against the denim.

They must look an odd pair.

He would have to mend his coat.

Her stop came and went.

Her gaze was steady, and he supposed that made sense.

Grimmauld Place was safe. Safer.

Sirius would be there, rearing for a fight. So, if they were ambushed…

No. Ridiculous. They wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be followed. Besides. Padfoot wasn’t allowed out.

Remus gave up on thinking.

No point.

Conserve energy for showering when you arrive.

The light was golden.

*

Hot water.

Soap.

Towel.

Pyjamas.

Climb into bed. Creaking. Craving horizontal, quiet, dark, rest...

Knocking, and she let herself in without waiting, still holding a towel and rubbing at her hair.

Hair damp. Darker now.

Her face stood out pale and old.

Tossed the towel at the chair; it slithered to the ground. She was climbing in beside him. Grey socks, and leggings and a long-sleeved top printed with the phases of the moon.

Throat, heartbeat, panic. Just for a moment. Like shock.

She caught his eye. Expressionless, empty. Burnt into nothing.

He felt the same.

Her head on the pillow beside him.

Side by side.

She blinked and held his gaze.

He watched as she let go of the mission, staring at him, a shaky exhalation, and she closed her eyes and reached for his hand, and as her fingers closed around his he felt himself breathe out too, somehow released, weighed down, dragging, sinking into the mattress and the sheets and the gentle gift of oblivion.

*

Late afternoon light crept between the curtains, painting an orange stripe across the room.

She opened her eyes as he shifted, and her eyes were grey, and steady, and they were both still, blinking and breathing for a long time.

Her fingertips traced the side of his jaw, feathery across sandpaper stubble, like an introduction.

He tried to tell her that she shouldn’t be there, that he was broken, that she shouldn’t want… but speech eluded him.

It was hard to argue with the truth.

His eyes closed of their own accord as she drifted closer. He leant into the kiss on instinct, hesitating after, drowning in her eyes again, and she was waiting for him to choose, bare centimetres away, waiting, and hoping, and how could he not when he loved her and she loved him…

He knew that now in a way that couldn’t be undone. There was nowhere left to hide from it.

It was slow, and soft, and gentle, and heady and intense, and he was floating in every moment of it, and every touch told him things he’d known and refused to hear…

She was telling him things, with her hands, with her body, with her tongue against his neck and her fingers curling in his hair…

So he listened and he told her things too, tentatively at first and then openly, and she understood, and it was soft sounds of fabric, and heat and need, and slow honesty writ large in every movement.

He was adrift in it, surging on the tide of all that had been unspoken, and it was like starbursts or rain and the sound of her voice was like bells, ringing out, vibrating through him and echoing, and he was awash with the sound and touch and taste of her, the smell of her skin, and her breath and her body, and the way she wound around him, sensation and love and hot, wet desire.

And he was swimming in those grey eyes again.

_Loved_.

They slept again.

*

She was gone when he woke up. He had a faint sense that she had stroked his hair and kissed him before she left. It might have been wishful thinking.

But when he stretched in the quiet of evening, and got up and got dressed, and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, in search of food, she was rinsing mugs in the sink, while Sirius stuffed the corner of an overloaded sandwich in his mouth.

It seemed harsh and wrong somehow.

“I have to go,” she said. The first thing she’d said since the train station. _I have to go._

The wave of sadness hit him physically, washing tiredness and defeat through him and it was all he could do to nod, and let her go.

She put the mugs away, gestured a casual farewell to Sirius, and then she was gone, grey eyes finding his on her way out of the kitchen, lingering, saying… something.

Remus wasn’t sure what.

He collapsed in a chair.

“You idiot,” said Sirius, thickly, around a mouthful.

“I know,” _Despair_. “Forgive me. I should never have… I’m not a suitable…”

“No, dimwit, you’re supposed to go snog her in the hallway. Do you want her to think you don’t care?”

Remus blinked.

“Uh…”

“Quick, before she leaves.” Sirius kicked him under the table, “Go _on._ ”

He was stumbling in the hall, somehow, and the horrible troll foot umbrella stand went flying, and it was his fault, and they stood in the post-crash silence, and he managed to say and do absolutely nothing at all.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. It was as though a curse was broken, and he could breathe, and he could reach for her, and the mischievous grin she threw at him as she wound her arms around his neck sent fire surging through him.

“Don’t mind me,” said Sirius, walking past later, “I’ll just tell the Order to step _round_ you when they turn up for debriefing,”

Remus glanced up, startled to find the hallway still existed.

“I have to go,” Tonks said again. “Mum’ll be convinced I’m dead by now.”

He squeezed her hand.

“Here’s a novel idea,” said Sirius, mocking, amused, “Send a patronus, and take Moony back to bed. You’ve got an hour before they all start turning up.”

Tonks gave a gurgling laugh, and Remus found he was being led upstairs again. He wasn’t entirely sure why his face felt hot. Or why his feet weren’t working properly.

“And Moony,” Sirius said, grinning like a demon as they passed, “For the sake of my poor ears, use a silencing charm this time!”


End file.
